


Deathwatch (The Skin-to-Skin Remix)

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur comforts Merlin as he holds vigil by Gaius's deathbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deathwatch (The Skin-to-Skin Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jelazakazone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Deathwatch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/381805) by [jelazakazone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/jelazakazone). 



> I really liked the sparse, poetic style of the original fic. This remix focuses on Arthur and explores his feelings and actions.

It's Elyan who tells him, with a quiet cough at his elbow in the middle of training, relaying the news in a low voice. The sickness has spread too far, it's a matter of hours, now.

Arthur's eyes squeeze closed as he thinks of the man who tended him in his every childhood illness, who patched up his practice injuries, tournament injuries, battle injuries. He can count on one hand the people who defied his father and lived to tell the tale, and Gaius is one, along with Morgana and himself. 

But for all that Gaius has been to him, he has been more to Merlin. Arthur feels a sharp pull in his chest as he thinks on what a blow this will be to Merlin. Merlin, who has dealt with too much loss in his life already.

Arthur's hands curl into fists, frustrated. He is king. It seems a heavy burden, to be king, when there is nothing he can _do_ to make things better. He stares at his hands which are trained to take life but can do nothing to restore it. And he remembers, then, that when there is nothing to be done for the dying, it is to those left behind we must minister.

He knows what it is to lose a father, and he will not see Merlin go through this alone. 

"Sir Gwaine," he calls, and Gwaine saunters over, habitual mocking grin on his face. Arthur itches to knock it off, but nothing would come of such an action but upsetting Merlin further, and today of all days that is not something he will have on his conscience. "Gaius is dying," he informs his knight, cutting to the heart of the matter. Gwaine's grin fades quickly. "Go, sit with him." Arthur does not specify who he means by 'him'; it is understood.

"You don't need to ask," Gwaine says. Arthur knows very well that Gwaine would not have waited for permission, but it makes him feel a fraction less useless to give it, all the same. Gwaine loves Merlin, not in the way Arthur loves him, but no less fiercely for all that. Friendship is a powerful thing and Merlin has need of it at this moment. 

Arthur watches as Gwaine leaves the field before turning to finish off the demonstration. He attacks the training dummy with the full force of his impotent rage, until it is little more than straw in the wind. The young recruits stare dumbly at him as though they are not sure what lesson it is they are supposed to have learnt. Arthur isn't sure he knows himself.

He leaves the field, arms heavy at his sides, anger having been replaced with the weight of a great sadness. This is not something he can fight. He feels a bitter taste in his mouth as he reflects that it is one thing to know that you would do anything for someone, quite another to accept that sometimes, there is nothing you can do.

His instincts rebel at stopping to wash and change out of his chainmail, but he knows that the itch to reach Merlin as soon as possible is a selfish one, and he will be of more use to him changed and refreshed. He stops by the kitchens, causing a flurry of consternation among the kitchen staff who are unused to royalty coming to fetch their food themselves, and tries not to tap his foot too impatiently as they load up a tray with bread and cheese and fruit and sweetmeats.

Gaius lies unmoving on the bed and Arthur pauses in the doorway, wondering whether the worst has happened after all. The sound of his laboured breathing shows Gaius is clinging on to life, if but barely, and Arthur doesn't know if that is a blessing or not. Perhaps it would be easier if it were all over.

Merlin is sat hunched over by the bedside. Gwen has taken Gwaine's place now, rubbing soothing circles on his back. She looks up as Arthur enters, and peels herself from Merlin's side with a swift press of lips to his cheek. 

"How is he?" Arthur asks, his voice low.

"It can't be long now," Gwen shakes her head sadly. 

"And Merlin?"

"He's taking it hard. He hasn't been alone, though, since this morning."

"Thank you," Arthur says, and squeezes her hand. She shakes her head as she squeezes back; she hasn't done it for him, Arthur knows, but he's grateful all the same, that Merlin has people who love and care for him. 

Gwen leaves and Arthur wastes no time in crossing over to Merlin. He doesn't try to talk, there's no need for a 'how are you?', he knows the answer to that. He balances the tray of food on his knee.

"I suppose that's all for you," Merlin jokes weakly, nodding at the plate, his voice rough.

"Idiot," Arthur says quietly, some of his sorrow and affection spilling out, too much to contain.

Merlin crumples against him, then, his head coming to rest on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's hand slips up, cradling Merlin against him. Merlin shivers, but does not sob out loud, and Arthur is almost surprised to find his shirt damp with tears when Merlin shakily pulls away.

"Um," he says, and Arthur shushes him, because he will not allow him to apologise for his grief. Arthur looks down at the plate on his lap and disregards the sweetmeats in favour of a piece of bread, something soft and plain and easily digestible. He holds it up to Merlin's lips. He resists at first, but Arthur is insistent, and he allows Arthur to feed him, although Arthur's sure he doesn't taste a thing. After Merlin swallows the bread and it doesn't seem to stick in his throat too badly, Arthur tries a piece of cheese, a slice of pear. Merlin looks as though he might as well be chewing sawdust, and Arthur sets the plate aside. 

Gaius stirs, just a little, the faintest rattling whisper of breath, and Merlin starts forward, reaching out to him, his long thin fingers grapsing at the mottled, papery skin of Gaius's hand. 

"He's cold," Merlin croaks, half standing to tuck the blankets higher up around the chin of the man who has been a father to him. Arthur looks and sucks in a breath. Gaius's eyes are milky and unseeing, and he knows it is too late. He knows that Merlin knows, too, from the way he bites his lip, but his eyes are bright, a feverish light in them, and his hands do not stop fussing with the blankets. 

It is all over, now, and it is not easier at all.

"Merlin." There is no need to say _he's gone, there's nothing you can do_. He doesn't say _I'm sorry, he was a good man._ Arthur's role in this is only to let Merlin know he is here for him. Merlin turns, and Arthur lifts a steady hand to his face, swiping away the tears which don't seem to stop coming. "Merlin," he says a second time, softer, an entreaty.

Merlin slumps into his arms. Arthur holds him close without hesitation, one hand slipping up under Merlin's shirt to press against his skin. It's warm and dry to the touch, and he can feel the places where Merlin's bones are. Arthur tells himself silently to make more of an effort to get Merlin to eat, tomorrow. He lets his hand creep up as far as Merlin's shirt will allow, before sweeping back down again. It's the most basic human comfort, this skin-to-skin contact, purely physical without being sexual, warming them both. He holds Merlin until his shoulders stop shaking.

 

Merlin insists on washing and wrapping the body himself. Arthur reflects that it is possibly one of the most intimate things that can be done for someone, almost unbearably so, and is grateful that he did not have to do this for his father. Merlin mutters under his breath as his hands glide over Gaius's still form, shrouded in cotton, whether incanting a spell or whispering a final farewell, Arthur doesn't ask.

Merlin looks tired when he has finished, fragile and fraught, his hair sticking up in all directions where he has run helpless fingers through it. Arthur pulls him into his arms once more, wrapping him up in them as though he could shut out all the grief and unpleasantness in the world. He asks Merlin if he wants to stay, to keep vigil until the morning, when the pyre can be lit, but Merlin shakes his head. His vigil has been kept and spent already.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asks, blinking wearily, and Arthur hates that there is the slightest uncertainty in his voice, that he would ever question his place in Arthur's rooms, in his bed, in his heart.

"Of course," he murmurs, lips against Merlin's hair. Merlin's legs are wobbly as they make their way through the castle, and Arthur puts an arm around him, for support, uncaring of who may be watching and whispering along the way.

Arthur gives Merlin a moment's privacy, to wash his face and relieve himself, while he calls a guard and gives orders for a watch to be kept outside the physician's chambers until dawn.

Merlin is stood in the middle of the room when he returns, looking lost, staring helplessly down at his cuffs as if he is not quite sure what to do next. Arthur wonders if he truly realised until now just how much he has come to rely on Merlin's quiet strength and resilience.

Arthur takes matters into his own hands, stripping away the layers of clothing one by one, slowly and without intent, and then guiding Merlin into his own bed, pulling the covers up over him to guard against the cold. He hesitates for a second before removing his own clothes, hoping his intentions will not be misconstrued; this is a night for the giving of comfort, not the taking of pleasure. He slips under the sheets and wraps himself around Merlin so they are skin-to-skin once more. Merlin sighs, nestling into the embrace, his dark head resting on Arthur's chest over his heart; his sex, soft, squished against Arthur's thigh; his arm thrown around Arthur's waist. And yet for all this, it is the way Merlin's little finger curls around his own, like a child making a promise, which feels the most intimate.

Their promises have been made and received, though, long before now, and it is the under the aegis of love freely exchanged that they can find their sanctuary from grief.

There are no more tears that night.


End file.
